Free Web NovelChapter 30: Cute Guy
The amber liquid arrives first. I knock it back in one, fire races down my throat. It burns. It hurts. It feels wonderful.
For the first time in days, the fog in my head clears ever so slightly. I rest my elbows on the bar and stare at the wood grain beneath my fingertips.
Everything I’ve learned so far is useless. Something happened that night, something important. But every answer creates three more questions. Why did those memories come back now? What am I? Why did those men know things they refused to explain? Most importantly, why does every road lead back to them no matter how hard I try to walk in the opposite direction?
A plate lands gently in front of me.
I look up.
The bartender was right, he’s produced the most beautiful grilled cheese I’ve ever seen. Golden brown with crispy edges and cheese melting onto the plate. Beside it, a bowl of tomato soup sends up little curls of steam. Food somebody made because I look hungry. A tear slips free, mortifying.
I look away, intensely interested in the soup. The bartender says nothing, just slides a spoon onto the counter and wanders off to polish glasses.
With the smallest bite imaginable, I force myself to chew slowly. Then swallow. Then take another bite. The soup follows. Rich tomato. Pepper. Comfort. It stays down. I sit there and eat one careful mouthful at a time while rain taps against the windows outside.
For tonight, at least, I’m eating.
By the time I finish the sandwich and manage half the bowl of soup, I feel almost human again.
Not completely repaired, let’s not get carried away. Nobody goes from vomiting bile in a motel bathroom to thriving member of society in the space of an hour. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓
But the nausea’s eased, the trembling in my hands has settled. I carry my bowl over to one of the booths near the window and sink into the cracked vinyl seat with a sigh I feel all the way down to my bones.
Rain continues to streak down the glass, blurring headlights into long smears of gold and white. The television’s now showing some crime drama where everybody’s yelling at each other for no reason. I watch without seeing it.
Tomorrow I’m buying a burner phone. Tomorrow I’m finding somewhere better to stay. Tomorrow I’m looking for work. Anything that keeps me moving forward. Anything that stops me from turning around.
That’s the real battle, isn’t it? Not surviving or finding answers. Every day I wake up and have to make the same decision all over again. Don’t call them. Don’t go back. Don’t convince yourself everything was fine because you miss them. Especially because you miss them.
The bell above the diner door jingles, followed by a sweep of cold air. I glance up as a man steps inside, shaking rain from dark hair before pushing a hand through it.
Young, maybe late twenties. Tall enough to stand out without being ridiculous about it. He has one of those faces that puts people at ease. An easy smile. He exchanges a few words with the bartender before taking a seat at the bar. I keep looking. Not staring. Observing. A very professional scientist who happens to appreciate broad shoulders.
After a few seconds, I force myself to look away and focus on the television again. Cute men are not on the agenda.
I drift back into my thoughts. Library tomorrow, city records, maybe another dive into the newspaper archive. Maybe I can finally find something useful instead of another short story about billionaires with six-packs and commitment issues. The thought almost makes me smile.
Corrian rolling his eyes. Jax talking so fast he trips over his own words. River’s quiet voice. Leo pretending he isn’t soft. Ezra looking at me seeing every terrible decision before I make it. Absolutely fucking not, I shove the memories away.
They lied. They hid things. They let me stumble blindly into a situation I didn’t understand. If I’m sitting in a depressing bar hundreds of miles from home contemplating my life choices, they helped put me here.
I’m halfway through convincing myself that my life isn’t a complete disaster when a voice slides through my spiral.
"Buy you another?"
The words are warm and velvet-smooth. I genuinely think he must be talking to somebody else, I glance over my shoulder and when I turn back, the guy from the bar is standing beside my booth with his hands casually in the pockets of his jacket.
Up close, he’s annoyingly attractive.
"Oh." Brilliant, a truly inspiring contribution to the conversation.
His smile twitches wider. "The soup. Or drink. Whatever you’re having."
No.
It arrives fully formed, before I’ve even thought about it. Absolutely not. Strange men are how people end up murdered in documentaries. That isn’t actually why I hesitate. What stops me, irritates me. Why do they still get so much space inside my head?
"Sorry," I mutter. "Yeah," I hear myself say, surprising us both. "I’d like that."
"Perfect." His grin gets wider.
Maybe sitting across from a normal man, having a normal conversation is exactly what I need. Healthy, proof of moving forward instead of constantly looking over my shoulder.
"Greg," he holds his hand out with another smile.
I take it. "Lovely to meet you, Greg." His hand is warm and rough, working hands.
"Whiskey?" He points to my empty glass with a raise of his eyebrow. freewebnøvel.com
As tempting as that is, a beer is absolutely the best option. I need to keep my wits about me.
"Beer please."
With a wink, he heads back to the bar. I watch him go, resting my chin on my hand.
Maybe a cute guy buying me a drink is exactly the sort of ordinary thing I need. Maybe it’s a step toward building a life that has nothing to do with packs, secrets, or impossible memories.
The ache in my chest disagrees completely.
